Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 03 - Haunted (3 page)

The Alexandria Inn was soon full of uniformed officers who were scouring the parlor for clues. Few were to be found. At first the authorities did not suspect murder, but it could not be ruled out. Wendy, who had suspected murder from the beginning, chatted with her boss, Nate Smith, in the corner. Nate was the county coroner and had already determined Walter had been dead for less than an hour. I’d had to turn away when Nate nonchalantly jabbed a thermometer through Walter’s abdomen into his liver. Wendy informed me this was a common way to determine the time of death.

“Hmm. I smell a faint bleach scent, Nate, as if chloroform might have been used,” Wendy said, sniffing the air around the plywood coffin. Her voice held an “I-told-you-so” tone I was familiar with from her growing-up years.

Chief Coroner Smith was a few years older than Stone and would be retiring soon. Wendy was being prepped to take his place, which is why she’d transferred from Kansas City, Kansas. There was a better and faster opportunity for advancement in the county coroner’s office in St. Joseph. The chief coroner in Kansas City was only a few years older than Wendy and would probably hold the position for many years to come.

“Now that you mention it, I smell bleach too,” Nate concurred. “It’s barely discernible, but it’s definitely there. Good job, Wendy. I just might have overlooked it if not for your keen observation skills.”

Wendy was delighted with Nate’s compliment. I could see the distinct look of superiority on her face. It was a trait she’d inherited from her father.

Nate turned to the county sheriff who’d just arrived. The sheriff had been out investigating a domestic dispute call on the far end of the county.

“I’d suggest dusting for fingerprints and all that,” Nate told the sheriff. “Have your men give it the full-meal deal. I’m thinking, more and more, this could be a crime scene. My assistant detected the faint scent of bleach, and I smell it now too. We think chloroform might have been used on the victim.”

Photos were now being taken from every angle, of Walter, the fake coffin, and nearly everything else in the room. An officer drew a circle around a small button he found, under the bench of the grand piano. A small white card, folded in half, was propped up there with the number one written on it. I hated to disappoint him, but I was sure the small button had come off the red cardigan I was wearing earlier. It had popped off while I was setting up props, and after several minutes of searching, I gave up looking for it. It was a non-essential button anyway, since I never buttoned up the sweater.

As soon as the investigative team was finished, the coroner’s office would take possession of the body, perform an autopsy on it, and then store it at the county morgue until further notice. Nate obviously wanted to make sure all I’s were dotted and all T’s were crossed before this occurred. Unfortunately, not much evidence could be found, which would make the difficult task of tracking down a suspect much harder. That’s assuming a suspect existed and this really wasn’t just some fluke thing like an aneurysm or a heart attack. Walter was young for a heart attack, but such things did happen on occasion.

Maybe the smell of chloroform was just imagined by both Nate and Wendy, even though I never used bleach in the house. Laundry just wasn’t my thing, and Stone didn’t raise much of a fuss about wearing pink socks and t-shirts. I found myself praying poor young Walter had suffered a massive heart attack, even though that possibility was looking less and less probable.

The local detectives asked Stone, Wendy, and me for the names of all the people we could remember who had passed through the haunted house that morning. It was just barely noon, and among us we came up with a mere handful of names, no more than six or seven. A lot of the people were strangers to us, since we’d only recently become acquainted with the area.

And most of the guests at our haunted house had been small children. Teachers were bringing classes to the inn on field trips, so we often had a line of twenty or more kids at a time. None of them had appeared capable of cold-blooded murder. A few of them looked as though they could commit a number of unspeakable crimes, but certainly not murder. Is there such a thing as an illegal temper tantrum? Assault with a deadly mitten? I saw one boy poke another one in the eye with a green crayon, but that’s the extent of any violence I’d witnessed all day.

I noticed one of the detectives standing back in the corner of the room. He’d been involved in the previous case of Mr. Prescott’s murder and had been a close friend of ours since. He was a tall, strapping, good-looking young man named Wyatt Johnston. Wyatt could ingest an entire Chinese buffet and not gain an ounce. I had tried to fill him up a couple of times and never could succeed at the challenge. He waved at me from across the room, and I made my way over to speak to him. He’d just ended a conversation with my daughter when I greeted him.

“Any ideas what happened to young Walter?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Do you think there was foul play involved, Wyatt?”

“The coroner is certain there was, so it looks likely. Wendy told me she suspected foul play from the very beginning. She said she could sense a crime had taken place in this room the moment she stepped in to it.”

Wendy would definitely tell Wyatt that kind of thing; it was the portion of her nature she’d inherited from her father coming out in her again. Like Chester, she could be extremely dramatic. She carried a lot of his traits and mannerisms, considering she was such a young child when he died.

Reaching into a pocket inside his jacket, Wyatt extracted a small notebook. He pulled a pen out of his front shirt pocket, and asked me, “Did you see or hear anything unusual before discovering his body? Did you hear an argument taking place or a conversation of any type? Any sounds of a scuffle, perhaps?”

Detective Johnston had asked me those exact same questions the winter before, without much success. He didn’t look awfully optimistic this time around either. He merely nodded after I answered in the negative.

“He’s much too young for a heart attack, but you never know,” he said. “Stranger things have happened. My nephew had heart surgery while still in the womb to avert a major heart problem after his birth. It was unbelievable.”

“Yes, it is incredible what they can do these days. Look at how much modern medicine has extended the average life span,” I said, instantly feeling remorseful for talking about long life spans when Walter would never even reach the age to drink legally. Wyatt nodded at my remarks and continued to speak.

“Personally, I couldn’t make out a bleach scent near the coffin. Nate and Wendy could possibly be mistaken about the chloroform thing, even though they are trained to pick up scents like that.”

“I was just thinking along those same lines, Wyatt. Let’s hope so, anyway. I’d hate to think another murder has occurred right here in the inn.”

“Yeah, me too, and it’s certainly plausible he was born with some kind of heart condition. But it could be nearly anything, really. And since Nate thinks chloroform might have been present, there’s sufficient reason to process this room as a crime scene and to require a full investigation into the circumstances surrounding Walter’s death,” Wyatt said. “We should be done here soon, and I’ll make sure to let you know anything I find out. The first thing, of course, will be to notify the family. And it goes without saying, but please preserve the purity of the crime scene, at least until the detectives are through scrutinizing it. They may have to come back for further review.”

“Of course. I know the drill. Do you know any of Walter’s family members?” I asked.

“His mother, Melba Sneed, is an odd woman,” Wyatt said. “We get domestic dispute calls to her house every month or so. She gets off her medicine and goes berserk. She has a tendency to get into fistfights with door-to-door salesmen for some reason. She nearly killed a girl scout selling cookies last year. She threatened to bash the poor little girl’s head in with her cane. She’s one pup short of a litter, but still, she’ll surely be horrified when she learns of her son’s death. I heard one of the detectives say Walter’s father lives in Albuquerque. Mr. Sneed and Melba divorced several years ago, he said.”

“Melba sounds dangerous,” I said.

“She can be,” he replied. “She is in and out of the mental ward at the hospital all the time. She’s been mentally handicapped for years.”

“Did Walter have any siblings?”

Wyatt rubbed his chiseled chin for a few moments, and replied, “I know he has a sister in town named Sheila Talley. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” I said.

“Yeah, right.” He chuckled. “I know how you are, Lexie. I promise to let you know anything interesting I discover about the case. And you promise me you’ll stay out of trouble. I’m sure our team of detectives can figure out what happened to Walter and make any necessary arrests—yes, even without your assistance.”

“Yeah, whatever. Say, there are some homemade pastries in the kitchen. Would you like a couple before you leave?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 3

An hour later Stone, Detective Johnston, and I sat around the kitchen table sipping coffee and eating pastries. The team of detectives had finished up, and Wendy had left with Nate Smith to transport Walter’s body to the county coroner’s office, which was located right next to the county morgue. Naturally, we were discussing the possibilities and circumstances surrounding Walter’s death. None of us could believe tragedy had once again struck at the Alexandria Inn. This death was even more tragic than the last one. A young man in his prime had been struck down. Walter should have had a long life ahead of him.

“If it weren’t for the Alexandria Inn, Rockdale would never need to borrow officers from St. Joseph’s homicide division,” Wyatt said. I chuckled, but Stone did not find any humor in the remark. Wyatt noticed Stone’s silence and changed his tune. “Seriously, Stone, I really hate that this has happened here again. I couldn’t believe it when I got the call from the dispatcher that a dead body had been found here at the inn. I was the first one to respond, not certain who’d been discovered dead on the premises. I shouldn’t say this, but I was relieved to see Walter’s body lying in the coffin. I didn’t want to think something had happened to either of you, or to Wendy.”

“I hate it, too, that another death has occurred here. I also hate that we had to close down the haunted house a few days before Halloween. It was going so well,” I lamented. “Oh, and I also hate that poor Walter is dead. He seemed like such a nice, quiet, and polite young man. And don’t forget, accidental death has not been ruled out yet.”

Stone nodded in agreement, and Wyatt snatched another cream puff off the pastry tray. Stone set his cup down on the table and said thoughtfully, “I wonder how this death’s going to affect business here at the inn. Our reputation is already a bit shaky after Horatio Prescott was murdered during our grand opening. People are going to start worrying that this place really is a haunted house. We’ve put so much time and elbow grease into the inn. Not to mention money. A death in the first year of operation, much less the first day, is uncanny. But two deaths in the first year? That’s just unbelievable. Customers are going to be afraid to stay here.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I said, although I had thought of almost nothing else since the death was discovered. “Hmm, I wonder—”

“No, Lexie! I don’t like the look in your eye or the sound of your voice. I know what you’re thinking. I feared this was going to happen. You want to jump into this investigation feet first, don’t you?” Stone asked. He had begun to pick his coffee cup up but set it back on the table forcefully. “Don’t you, Lexie?”

“No, not really. I just thought we might ask around a bit. Make sure nothing or no one is overlooked. We’re intimately involved you know. Walter did die in your establishment. We have the reputation of the inn to protect.”

“I’ve got you to protect,” Stone said. “You are my main concern, and my number one responsibility.”

“And I appreciate it. I really do. But we’ve gotten involved in the past and no harm was done.”

“No harm was done?” Stone looked at me incredulously. “You were nearly killed several times!”

“Yes, but I wasn’t.”

“Only by the grace of God you weren’t. And speaking of God, that is why he created policemen like Wyatt. Let them do their jobs, Lexie. I appreciate your concern. Believe me, I do, but I’m more concerned about you than I am about any brick and mortar building. And I don’t want to get involved. I have enough to do already, taking care of the inn. The authorities will have a cause of death determined shortly, and if there was foul play involved, a suspect will be apprehended and brought to justice. Case closed. What do you think, Wyatt?”